


Love Tap

by misch3fbunni3



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: 1980s, Birkin's a good friend, Concussions, Eye Trauma, Poor Wesker, Pre-STARS, Seizures, Stand Alone, TBI, Violence, Vomiting, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:14:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28053723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misch3fbunni3/pseuds/misch3fbunni3
Summary: Alternate Title "Why Wesker Wears Sunglasses All The Time"Wesker and Sergei have a little argument.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	Love Tap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnotherAnon0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/gifts), [Bruna-Midnight Disturbance](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Bruna-Midnight+Disturbance).



> For Bruna and AnotherAnon0 – Not sure if this was what you were looking for Bruna from your request on my Midnight Disturbance, but I am open to more suggestions. AnotherAnon0, you made me love Sergei’s brutality even more so than I already had and why I included him as the antagonist in this little whump-fest. Not as brutal as Sergei could be, but I’ll leave that door open to you if you care to write their confrontation.

Sergei had not meant to hit Wesker as hard as he had, but here he was, standing over the blonde man who was convulsing at his feet, making pathetic mewling sounds. He could already see the flesh start to swell and the large patch of red bruising from where the side of Wesker’s face had impacted with the older man’s fist, almost a perfect outline of his knuckles along the impeccably kept blonde eyebrow.

Sergei sighed as he rolled his eye and crouched down next to Wesker, roughly manipulating the quivering blonde onto his right side. Sergei brought Wesker’s left arm up to rest the hand under the blonde’s cheek, bending the knee on the same side up so the younger man wouldn’t roll onto his face.

Just as Sergei stood, he watched the blonde’s body heave harshly as he vomited up whatever he had eaten before the older man’s unannounced arrival, splattering the arm Sergei had just positioned under Wesker’s face and soaking into the dark blue sleeve of the blonde’s dress shirt. A soft cry was uttered wetly, and Sergei would have found it arousing if the younger man wasn’t unconscious. Well, maybe just a bit.

Satisfied that Wesker was in the best position he could be in in case of any further expulsion of the younger man’s stomach, he sat in the chair opposite, staring down patiently as the thrashing slowed and then finally stopped, the body heaving, lids fluttering, eyes rolled back.

The blonde’s occasional accessory of reading glasses had shattered when Sergei’s fist connected with the side of Wesker’s head. The pieces scattered over the trajectory of Wesker’s fall. A few small bits had even been jammed into the delicate skin near his eye as small rivulets of blood made their way down Wesker’s cheek from the embedded material.

Sergei really did not want to stay and wait around for whenever Wesker recovered. The blow Sergei had delivered to the blonde’s face was vicious and had caused the younger man to lose his footing and crack his skull against the hardwood floor of his living quarters. Luckily, Wesker had barely missed landing on the sharp corner of the elaborate coffee table. Such a secondary blow would have probably killed him, and then Sergei would be in deep shit. Wesker was an essential part of the Master’s plan, despite the younger man being a top-notch prick.

Sergei’s visit was to caution Wesker that he was stepping outside of his boundaries and wanted the blonde to know that his actions had not gone unnoticed by the older man. Planning on putting Wesker in his place before more insubordination exacerbated, the unfortunate rough landing had ruined the entire evening he had planned.

Knowing full well that the blow had been incredibly brutal, it had been well deserved. The smart, pretty mouth had been peeled back over perfect teeth and spouting unruly nonsense towards Lord Spencer, and Sergei was not going to let the younger man verbally abuse their master and get away with it unscathed. The crunch of his fist against the blonde’s face had been so incredibly satisfying, cutting short anything else Wesker was planning on spewing about their Lord.

Wesker had just returned from working under Dr. Marcus, having spent a few years advancing his viral studies outside Spencer’s grasp. The blonde had returned with an obvious chip on his shoulder as was apparent in his unruly actions, not taking well to suddenly having to appease Sergei under the tyrant project. It did not take long for Sergei to notice and wanted to end the hotheadedness before Wesker went and did something he would ultimately regret.

Sergei continued to stare at the blonde as the body shuttered every so often, the bruising blossoming into a lovely shade of red now, and the large goose egg had raised prominently on Wesker’s temple. More vomit was expelled, followed by slight gagging as thick drool accompanying the last of the blonde stomach contents.

Sergei figured he should stay just a bit longer, resting his head on his fist on the chair’s arm, huffing at his wasted evening lying on the floor in an unconscious heap. He really didn’t want to get the call that Wesker had died from choking on his own vomit.

Sergei smirked suddenly, hopeful that Wesker would not remember what happened this evening, still looking forward to putting the younger man in his place. Concussions could be nasty things.

Sergei could not help leaning forward, reaching down to tightly grip the immaculately kept slicked back hair and wrench the limp head upward to angle it towards his face. A small whimper escaped the pretty mouth along with more bile-laced drool. The eyelids still fluttered, an obvious subconjunctival hemorrhage in the left's sclera and only a slither of the pale blue-gray irises could be seen.

There would be no further punishments this night. There was no fun in teaching an unconscious participant who would never remember the lesson. Sergei released the blonde hair and Wesker’s head dropped with a heavy thud onto the hand that had been balancing his head prior, causing another small sound to escape and the body to twitch.

Waiting a few more moments to observe, there were no further abrupt movements from the prostrate form, just slightly heaving breaths and small incoherent noises. Sergei rose and searched the well-kept living space for Wesker’s cordless telephone. Finding it, he placed it near enough to be within Wesker’s line of sight whenever he came too, but far enough away to hopefully avoid being splashed with vomit, “I’ll be nice just this once, Comrade.”

*****

Wesker’s head was pounding with the worst pain he had experienced in a very long time, and the obtrusive stench of vomit permeated his nose. Not able to remember what he had been doing last, he tried to lift his head, which instantly caused his stomach to roll with intense nausea, his head throbbing even more intensely. Quickly he pressed back against the cool floorboards waiting for his stomach to settle.

He could tell he was slightly on his side as he shifted the numb hand his head had been leaning on over to curl it into a loose fist to get the blood flowing. His left temple and eye throbbed severely as he tried to move his head, which only made him gag at the intensity of the pain the movement caused.

Groaning, he tried to crack his eyes open, which seemed to have crusted shut. After several tries, he managed to open them, but everything was a swirling blur, and he shut them again immediately with a ragged cry. Dragging his hand up that had resumed blood flow, he wiped at his crusted lids and immediately hissed at the contact with his left and he jerked the hand away from the throbbing skin.

Squinting open his right eye, Wesker tried to see where he was without moving his head. There was a black blob not far from his face and what he recognized as one of his living room chairs. Shutting the eye and moaning, he stayed in that position for several minutes. Hoping the pain would dissipate some, but it did not and seemed only to get worse the longer he was awake.

Opening his right eye again, not even wanting to test fate opening his left, he allowed for his vision to clear slightly from the blurriness. He immediately noticed the dried vomit next to him and on his arm and sleeve, which caused him to scrunch up his face in disgust and immediately regretted it as it caused pain to shoot through his head like lightning from the movement of facial muscles.

The tremendous agony of what felt like his head splitting open caused him to vomit instantly, which was just bile and saliva. “Fu..u k…” Wesker regretted the expletive immediately as he pressed himself flat against the floor to let the rolling waves of pain settle. Every ounce of his dignity was tossed out the window as he allowed the excess saliva to slip from his mouth as he tried to keep down intense nausea, swallowing seemingly to be an incredibly difficult task.

Waiting until his breaths evened out some, he cracked his right eye open again, slowly peering at what was immediately in his line of sight. His blurry vision cleared just enough to recognize the black blob to be his cordless phone. Crying out at his luck, he slid a trembling hand along the mess on the floor towards it to grip the life-saving device.

Trying to shift himself better, his stomach rolled again, threatening more upheaval, but Wesker knew there was nothing left in his stomach to eject. Taking a deep breath to try and settle his rebelling innards, the hand holding the phone shook violently. It took every bit of his coordination to bring the phone as close as possible to see the buttons.

Everything looked distorted in his vision as he fumbled with the phone, pressing a button it turned on the small menu display; the slightly lit screen caused him to flinch unexpectedly. After debating his options, his vision getting blurry once more, he finally recognized one of the words on the buttons and pressed ‘redial.’ He didn’t care who he was calling. He needed someone to come help. There was something incredibly wrong, and he could barely move, much less get himself to the med bay.

He could hear the ringing tone, and it was like thunder rumbling through his head, threatening his stomach more, except he could not control the intense upheaval as his body collapsed in on itself. His abdomen tightened violently as it forced up what little was left in his stomach, which was practically just bile.

‘Hello? Albert?’

Wesker couldn’t talk. He couldn’t control his body at all as he started to dry heave, unable to even get a decent breath in. The line was still open, and he could hear a person calling his name, but he couldn’t respond. The blazing pain that he thought was the worst he had felt in a long time tripled as he tried to lean up on shaky arms and the sound that ripped from him was a trembling moan that erupting into an agonized keening.

‘Albert? Is that you?! What’s going on?!’

The sounds were cut short by another violent dry heaving spell, which ended in a loud sob, tears running down his face. He needed to tell this person, whoever they were, that he needed someone to come help. “Rmm… Rumm…” Trying to say words was surprisingly complicated like his mouth was full of marbles. Trying as he heard the voice ask again where he was, at least he could comprehend what was being asked despite not answering coherently, “Ho… homm.”

The person on the other line said something, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying. Each word causing his head to pulsate, and he cried out again as he tried to claw at his hair where the pain was the strongest only for it to feel like his skull was shattering. Not even bothering with the phone any longer, he clenched his eyes tightly, moaning, as he slumped onto his side, pulling his limbs in protectively as if the balled position would help alleviate his suffering.

.....

There was a sudden pounding, and it echoed through the quiet living quarters causing Wesker to jolt from the barely conscious state he was trying to maintain. Not able to stop the keening as the pounding caused his head to pulse with it. There was a sudden loud jangling as the doorknob was rattled, causing his body to jolt but unable to sit up, much less move from his spot on the floor.

Suddenly someone was touching him, and it made the pain explode down his spine, and he could not stop the convulsion that wracked his worn-out body. All the dry heaving taking its toll, and he could taste copper in his mouth as he cried out as his body was rolled.

There was a familiar voice, but he could not put a name to it, just a face—a young man with sandy hair. The voice again. He heard feet pounding around him, a table being skidded across the floor. The heavy chair, too, scrapped the floor, and it caused him to cringe and clench his teeth so tight he thought they might crack.

Distantly he could hear people. A more distinct voice muttered next to him, “Albert, what happened?! Albert, can you hear me?” A hand was placed under the side of his head, and instantly he howled, eyes shot open wide as he arched his body back, causing even more unimaginable pain as he suddenly forgot how to breathe, his body tightening and rigid, his voice cut off abruptly from the lack of air.

He could see blurry movements of masses of color, and the person who had attempted to touch his head had moved back but not completely out of his peripheral vision. He could hear the same person saying something, but again it was muffled. His chest felt tight and his lungs burned, eyes tearing as it felt like the fires of hell were burning his skull from the inside out.

Words filtered through, “Breathe! Come on, damnit! You can do it! Breathe Albert! Breathe!” And Wesker realized he had stopped breathing, comprehending the words finally, and allowed his chest to expand. With air finally back in his lungs, a loud cry escaped him as he writhed.

Wesker was surprised he felt the pinch at all of what he knew was a needle prick in his arm. He immediately lost the rigidity and slumped against the floor. ‘Ah, heavenly, painless sleep.’ Wesker sobbed at the relief, except for the blackness he was expecting didn’t come. His eyes rolled as he tried to understand what was going on as blurs moved around him, chattering like hens.

Trying to form words, Wesker could only grunt as he felt people moving him about, shining a light in his face and touching the flaming pain over his left eye and the other side of his head that he realized must have also been injured based on the pain the touch caused. Wesker grimaced in irritation as it seemed he would be going for a ride as he was lifted onto something much softer than the hardwood boards.

Still, Wesker could not remember how he came to be on the floor of his living quarters with what felt like his skull having been cracked wide open.

*****

William Birkin was unsure of what to make of the weird call from Wesker, but he was glad he was actually home to receive the call. He could hear violent retching and sounds of the older man in absolute agony on the other line. Something he had heard from Wesker only once before, a long, long time ago, and Birkin couldn’t help the panicked shout into the line, “Albert? Is that you?! What’s going on?!”

There were stuttered sounds, and he could only make out the word ‘home’ and knew something had happened. Wesker needed help. Birkin called the medical staff on call and booked it over to Wesker’s sector as fast as he could, them both being situated in living quarters on the campus.

Birkin pounded on Wesker’s door as he was the first there. Not hearing anything when he pressed his ear to the door, he shuffled about for the spare key Wesker had hidden and nervously jiggled the key into the door handle, jerking it until he finally managed to unlock the door.

Flinging the door open, Birkin noticed there were a few lights on, and his panicked eyes swept the room and immediately noticed the splayed thrashing legs between the sitting chair and coffee table. The med team arrived just as Birkin pushed the furniture out of the way and dropped to Wesker’s side, “Albert, what happened?! Albert, can you hear me?”

The medics surrounded the other side of Wesker, and Birkin tried to help situate the blonde onto his back, but touching the older man seemed to worsen the injury. There had been a severe blow to the blonde’s left temple and eye, which had filled with blood, a raised contusion, and large bruising that had already turned black. Wesker’s body went rigid, and he stopped breathing, eyes wide in shock.

Knowing that Wesker desperately needed to resume breathing, he tried not to jostle the blonde as he yelled into the older man’s face, “Breathe! Come on, damnit! You can do it! Breathe Albert! Breathe!” And then Wesker was gasping, eyes clenched shut as his body convulsed.

Now that Wesker was breathing, he stepped back slightly to let the medics do their job, and it was then he noticed all the vomit and spital covering the floor, and that most of it looked dried, though some was fresher and tinged pink. The violent dry heaving must have broken blood vessels in the blonde’s throat.

Birkin furrowed his brow, looking at his watch, ‘How long had Albert been laying here?” Birkin had figured Wesker had an early meeting somewhere and had not yet made it to the labs, but it was now midday when the call jolted Birkin from his daze of running circles and just happened to have stopped by his quarters to grab some paperwork he had forgotten when his phone rang unexpectantly.

The medics rushed around Wesker, who had been situated incredibly fast on a gurney, and before Birkin realized, they were leading the bundled-up blonde out of the sector and towards the med bay. Birkin was glued to Wesker’s side the whole way, but the blonde was in and out of consciousness.

Upon arrival to the fully equipped med bay, Wesker was whisked away, leaving Birkin stranded alone, feeling helpless. Not even a minute passed, and a medic came up to him asking if he was with the blonde with the concussion. Nodding affirmative, Birkin followed the medic to where Wesker was being stripped of his clothes, likely looking for other injuries.

Dark bruising covering his right shoulder was noticeable, likely from when he had fallen after the vicious blow to his temple. Wesker’s head was tilted back slightly, a neck brace keeping his head straight as he was moved to a more supportive bed. The blue-gray eyes were mostly shut, left eye blood red. Loud sounds escaped him as his body was jostled.

A doctor jerked his head towards Birkin, quickly shouting over the sounds of agony from Wesker, “How long has he been like this?” Birkin looked at Wesker with wide eyes stuttering, “I don’t… I don’t know. Long enough for his vomit to dry.” The doctor quickly snapped his eyes over the left forearm and the now-scrapped dress shirt on the floor, “Fuck!”

The doctor barked something, bringing Birkin from his daze of staring at Wesker, whose body seemed to vibrate slightly, before being covered with several blankets. Without any further prompting, they started wheeling Wesker away quickly down another hallway. Birkin nervously yelled after the retreating backs, “Where are you taking him?!” The same doctor who had asked for a timeline threw over his shoulder, “CT scan, make sure there isn’t any hemorrhaging.”

Birkin rubbed his face wearily, ‘Shit. This isn't good. Who could have done this?’ Birkin sighed, staring at the clothes they had cut from Wesker’s body that were now scattered over the floor. Birkin grabbed the remnants of his cohort’s clothes and waited for further instruction.

.....

Birkin sat next to Wesker, staring at the pale, slack face. A thick bandage was secured over Wesker’s left temple and eye, almost completely covering it, minus a small slither at the bottom and more gauze wrapped around the blonde’s head, another thick bandage on the opposite side.

They had found the wound on the back of Wesker's head bleeding slightly—confirming he had been violently hit low on his temple, causing an orbital rim fracture, and then the opposite side of his head took his full body weight after he had fallen. The doctors were unsure yet if Wesker’s vision was compromised, but they would find out once Wesker woke up. The intense impact of the back of the blonde’s head where the occipital lobe was situated, could potentially damage his vision permanently. Yet, only time would tell of what the extent of the injuries were.

They said there was no bleeding on the brain, but Wesker had suffered a nasty concussion, borderline TBI, though the med team had yet to determine which, needing to take more scans. Sighing as he watched the unconscious blonde take slow breaths, Birkin felt luck had been on Wesker’s side that day and that the medics arrived exactly when they did. Birkin was not sure if Wesker would not have slipped into a coma with as bad as the injury had been. Birkin felt he had been obviously useless to help his friend, possibly hurting Wesker more by trying to move him.

Slumping his head against his hand, he would watch over Wesker until he woke and ensured the blonde was alright. Birkin did not want to think of the extra work that would be piled upon him if Wesker could not continue on the tyrant project.

*****

Wesker did not wake that day or the next, and William had to abandon his post to return to the labs after a nasty visit from Sergei, reminding him there was a timeline to keep too. However, Sergei offered to take William's place as sentinel.

It wasn’t until the fourth day that Wesker roused, in agony and incredibly confused about where he was and why he was in such pain. Voice slightly slurred as he questioned the supposed empty room, he instantly covered his eyes with shaking hands. Everything was too fucking bright, his left eye and temple aching severely, as he felt his heartbeat pulse through his skull.

A deep chuckle caused Wesker to freeze, not daring to remove his hands from his eyes. With a sneer, Wesker could remember that he despised the person making the rumbling sound. With his best attempt to sound irritated, Wesker barely slurred his next words, “What are you doing here? What happened? Where am I?”

The loud cackle from the large Russian caught Wesker off guard, and he slightly shrank back into his bed with a soft noise of protest. Lifting his hands to squint at the gray-haired man who was grinning like a hyena, Wesker tried to keep the contempt he felt for Sergei in his expression, but the bright lights caused his eyes to quickly water and he closed them, covering them once more.

“Good to see you finally awake, Comrade.” Not able to see but Wesker heard the large man shift, and a rough, callused hand grabbed his jaw harshly, his hands being pulled forcefully away from protecting his delicate vision, causing Wesker to snarl at the unexpected roughness as his head started to pound more intensely, involuntary tears slipping down his cheeks.

Wesker watched as Sergei smiled to the point his face seemed to be split in half, teeth shining at Wesker’s response to being manhandled. The hand around his jaw forced his head further back into the pillow, causing his head to throb, pulling a poorly stifled whimper from him.

Sergei’s voice pounded through his skull, “Still so feisty! I look forward to teaching you lesson I promised. Once you feel better, of course.” With those words, Wesker’s jaw was released, causing a low growl to emit from the younger man as he clenched his eyes shut once more, hands shaking as he wiped away thick tears.

Wesker could hear Sergei walked out but yelled after him, “What the fuck are you talking about, Sergei!” Only a thick accented laugh answered him.

.....

Wesker was infuriated. His vision never returned to normal even after spending several more days in the med wing for additional tests and scans. Everything was so incredibly bright, and halos now surrounded every light. Wesker also found that when he did start to become fatigued, his vision blurred, making his eyes tear up.

The doctors told him he might have long-lasting light sensitivity, or it might fade after a few weeks. It was a 50/50 crapshoot. They also forewarned him to rest immediately if any headaches or migraines manifested, stressing that it might cause even more long-term damage if he overworked his eyes. He was also cautioned that he might experience further seizures and to report to the med bay if any more occurred.

Wesker didn’t have time for this. He had lost too much time already on the tyrant project, and he imagined William was cursing his name for being ‘lazy.’

Now situated in the small convenience store on the campus, Wesker tried on every pair of sunglasses available, trying to find a pair that would reduce the brightness and the distracting halos. Sighing, he decided on a pair of dark black lenses and frames. He still did not remember what had transpired up to his savage injury and subsequent hospitalization. Wesker scoffed as he paid for the shades and slipping them on, for the first time in days, he felt like he could view the world without feeling like his eyes were being stabbed.

Now he needed to hunt down Sergei and figure out what the older man meant by the cryptic message he left of ‘being taught a lesson.’

**Author's Note:**

> I had fun researching for and writing this.
> 
> Time frame – After Wesker and Birkin are removed from under Dr. Marcus (who is not dead yet) and the beginnings of the tyrant project which Sergei is brought onto with his 'clones.' I can’t remember seeing anything prior to Marcus’ death of Wesker wearing sunglasses. May or may not fall within my Icarus timeline.


End file.
